The Writer
by LeggoMyMeggo92
Summary: This is the story of Satine's little sister, the head song writer for the Moulin Rouge. Christian/OC Satine/Chocolat Rated M for Adult Situations and language. Reviews greatly appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

Don't get me wrong; I loved my sister more than anything. She was just too goddamn irresistible. I knew her as Danielle, the girl who, after our parents died, took care of me, even going so far as to join the ranks of the Diamond Dogs to provide for me. The rest of Paris knows her as Satine, the Sparkling Diamond.

It all started in the Quartier Latin, where our father was a professor of music and our mother was a dance teacher, mainly ballet. Our home was alive with energy and happiness until one day our parents took a carriage into the country. It started snowing, harder and harder by the hour. They never came home.

Since we had no living relatives, we were brought to a rich old man's home to stay. Monsieur Bouvier lived in a tiny village called Nadine about 20 kilometers outside of Paris. He was a treacherous old man. He worked me to the bone while making Danielle sing for him. I should note that Danielle was fifteen at the time, while I was only ten. One night when he was asleep, Danielle and I stole away into the night.

We arrived in Paris about a week later, starving and dirty, in the north part of the city on Montmartre. I can't count how many doors Danielle and I knocked on, begging for food, work, a place to sleep. A crust of bread here, some cold soup there. Then we came to the front door of the Moulin Rouge, a place our mother had told us about in great length. We knew what kinds of men and women entered that building, but we were desperate. Harold Zidler saw how beautiful Danielle was and instantly offered her a job.

"On one condition," Danielle said, daring to contradict the old proverb that beggars cannot be choosers, "My sister will never be bought or sold. If she is, we both leave."

Harold's eyes lit up, "But of course, my dear."

Years later I would learn that he hadn't slammed the door in our faces because he admired Danielle's gumption. She got that from our mother.

So I was put to work cleaning while Danielle (who I was now supposed to call Satine) learned the man-catching dances of the Moulin Rouge. One day, perhaps six years after we'd arrived at the front door, while the dance hall was empty and I was cleaning up, I noticed the piano was still open. It was around lunchtime and no one was around, so I sat down and started plunking out a melody I'd had stuck in my head. I'd just put some dummy words in that I would have revised later had Harold not caught me.

"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but diamonds are a girl's best friend." I sang quietly.

"That's wonderful, my dear. Where did you hear that?" Harold surprised me from behind.

"I wrote it, Harold. But the words are only temporary-."

"Why? They're fantastic. How long until the song is done?" He had that look on his face that indicated he was about to make a business deal with someone. I'd seen it a million times, but I'd never been on the receiving end. It was quite unnerving.

"Maybe a week. Why?"

"Because, my darling, I think this song could be a hit. Now, let's keep working."

Harold and I worked late into the night, tweaking the lyrics and music until the song was perfect. As the girls arrived the next morning, we played it for them and they loved it.

And that's how my career as the head songwriter for the Moulin Rouge began. I kept my job as the caretaker as well. With the income I earned, I was able to move off the grounds of the Moulin Rouge. My new apartment was across the street on the second floor. I moved in on my twentieth birthday, the same day that the Moulin Rouge got its new stage manager.

His name was Gerard Chevalier, he was twenty-five, tall, with sparkling hazel eyes and thick black hair. With all of the many loose beauties that worked at the Moulin Rouge, I never expected him to even notice me.

Satine and I had the same shimmering blue eyes, but where her hair was vibrantly red, my locks ended up a darker reddish color. Because of my job as caretaker, I wasn't as delicate as the other girls. The muscles on my body stood out a bit more than theirs, but because of my mother's tutelage in dance I was able to still move gracefully. In fact, I often danced alone in my apartment or while I mopped the dance floor. Just to keep up my skill.

It was one of these dances with my mop that I first met Gerard. The music in my head was too difficult to ignore, so I started dancing, mop in hand.

I was spinning and leaping and I hadn't heard the doors open and close, but instead I heard chuckling. I froze and searched for the source of the manly giggles and I saw him for the first time, standing in front of the doors.

My heart stopped either from embarrassment or love at first sight, but I'm sure I'll never know. I stared at him until he spoke.

"Harold didn't tell me the cleanup girl was as talented a dancer as the rest of them." His voice was like velvet, deep and smooth and comforting.

"Well…I'm not just the cleanup girl." I retorted. I had always been able to think on my feet, especially since I dealt with horny drunkards on a nightly basis.

He laughed again, this time louder with more gusto. "Then what else do you do?"

"I'm the head songwriter," Before he got a chance to deny it I continued, "I wrote 'Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend.'"

"You wrote that? You?" he had his hands in his pockets and looked at me with great disbelief.

"You don't believe me? I'll show you." I dropped the mop, the clang echoing through the empty dance hall eerily. I dashed over to the piano, desperate to prove myself to this handsome newcomer.

I sat and began playing, singing along and getting every lyric perfect. He had moved to standing right behind the piano bench by the time I finished. I turned and nearly jumped out of my skin.

"You move like a ghost, Mr. Chevalier. I must attach a collar with a bell around your neck." I joked, ever so aware of his nearness. He was less than four feet away.

"Play me something else." He gently demanded. "How do I know that you have not merely memorized the song while working here?"

I understood his concern but felt slighted nonetheless. However, I had something I'd been working on for a while tucked away in my brain. It was slow and sweet and a little sad.

"Moon river, wider than a mile  
I'm crossing you in style some day  
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker  
Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way  
Two drifters, off to see the world  
There's such a lot of world to see  
We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend  
My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me."

I finished playing and turned around, a smug smile on my face.

He was chest was inches from my face, forcing me to tilt my head all the way back to meet his eyes. He stared me down for a few seconds before he bent over, his face a mere breath away.

"You have a wonderful way with words, Miss…I'm sorry, but what is your name?"

"Sophie." I answered breathlessly.

"Sophie." He said, coming closer to me so our lips were almost touching. Our breath was mingling. My heart was pounding in my ears, and I felt electricity rush through my veins. I was ready to explode.

And then he kissed me, sliding his hands behind my neck and pushing my whole body against the piano. I slithered my back up, scratching it on the opened lid. I didn't care. I made to stand up to my full height, which was still a full head shorter then he was. In standing, I knocked over the piano bench. He backed my hips up against the keys, which tinkled when I touched them. His hips ground into mine, and I could feel his hardness against my thigh.

He lifted my legs up, resting my bare feet on the keys and my butt on the top of the piano. He moved his body between my open knees and I knew what was coming.

I was no virgin, having taken care of that with Santiago one drunken night almost a year before. Still, I was nervous. I didn't know what to expect with a wholly different man.

I woke up the next morning behind the band area, my various items of clothing strewn about, and my dress still on the stage. Luckily, my slip was nearby. I put it on and snuck as quietly as I could out onto the stage to gather up my dress and stockings.

I didn't notice the entire cast of the Moulin Rouge standing, waiting for rehearsal to begin. Everyone except Satine started clapping and catcalling. My face turned bright red. I grabbed my dress off the lid of the grand piano and ducked back behind the curtain as quickly as possible.

I went out the back entrance and skirted the alley to cross the street to my building. Toulouse and Santiago were standing to the right of the door, a flask being passed in between them.

"Long night?" Santiago asked, winking lasciviously at me. I snatched the flask and took a long drag, wanting to forget the morning's embarrassment.

"You could say that. What time will Audrey be here?" I asked, referring to my loathsome writing partner with his ridiculous purple wig.

"Around one, but you know Audrey, always fashionably late." Said Toulouse, with his adorable lisp. He was the one who convinced me to join them in their quest to write the Bohemian musical, 'Spectacular, Spectacular.' Audrey insisted that I stick to writing song lyrics, but more often than not he threw my words out and used his own. I was getting frustrated, but my friendship with Toulouse and the narcoleptic Santiago kept me working with the horrible Audrey. And rehearsals were fun to watch, when arguments about what happens next usually ended with Audrey storming out in a tizzy or Santiago falling asleep.

"I'm going to nap. Wake me up when he gets here." I said, handing the flask back to Santiago.

"Not after last time." He said, referring to the fact that the last time he'd tried to wake me I punched him in the gut. Hard.

I nudged his chin with my fist, smiling. Even though we'd been intimate, there were no lingering emotions about it. He was in love with Nini, a dancer at the Moulin Rouge, and now I was falling for Gerard. Possibly.

I walked up the stairs to my apartment and fell onto my bed fully clothed, turning onto my stomach and falling fast asleep.

* * *

I do not own Moulin Rouge or any of the song lyrics used herein.


	2. Chapter 2

Someone shook my shoulder and I swung out my arm, but made contact with only the air. I opened my eyes and blinked, trying to focus on the female figure in front of me.

"I was most disappointed with your performance this morning, Sophia Marie." The normally soft, sweet voice of my sister was hard and cold which she used only when she was very, very angry. She could look so much like our mother when she wanted to.

"Yes, well just because I don't get paid for having relations doesn't mean you can be angry at me for having a little fun." I said, running a hand through my hair. She kept tapping her fingers on top of her walking stick, waiting for my apology. I gave it to her as I got up and went into the bathroom to wash the previous day's makeup off my face.

"So who is this new beau of yours?" She asked me. I heard the creak of my mattress as she sat down on it.

"It's none of your business. And he's not my beau. We just had sex." I said, toweling off my face.

"I wish you wouldn't do that." She said, looking over at me as I exited the bathroom.

"Do what?"

She sighed, "You know exactly what. Just because it's meaningless to me doesn't mean it has to be meaningless to you."

I'd heard this after I told her about Santiago and I. She wanted me to have "normal" relationships, where there was courting involved. As if that was even possible. The men on Montmartre weren't exactly the courting type, and if they were they were too insecure to hold down an actual relationship.

"Is that all you came to say?" I asked, looking out my window.

"Yes. I'll see you tonight?" My mattress groaned as she stood. Since I was on call for any possible mess that should happen during the show, I attended most every one.

"But of course." I kept staring out the window until she left, slamming the door behind her. She walked confidently across the street, her grey flannel suit showing but also downplaying her natural curves so as not to draw attention to herself. She usually never left the grounds of the Moulin, but when she did she'd always cover her hair and wear something that wouldn't lure the notice of passersby.

I heard heavy Argentinean footsteps on the stairs and Santiago was at my door.

"The artist formerly known as Audrey has arrived," he said in jest, bowing deeply as Audrey brushed past him and further up the stairs to our rehearsal space, griping about the late summer heat.

Throughout rehearsal, in which all of my suggestions for lyrics were shot down, I kept thinking about Gerard. I wondered if he was thinking of me, what he thought about last night, if he wanted another go. I knew I did.

Rehearsal ran long because the boys were trying to figure out the color of the nun's habit and Santiago fell asleep, so I left them to it and went to work. I entered through the back door and did a quick look around the floor to see if there was anything I needed to clean before the show. There wasn't, so I went to sit in the rafters. I climbed up the spiral staircase to the catwalk, but I wasn't the only one up there.

Chocolat, one of the only males who worked at the Moulin, was sitting with his feet dangling off the edge, massive arms resting on the lower railing. I often met him up here. We were good friends because my room on the grounds used to be next to his. We'd stay up into the wee hours of the morning talking of various things, and we'd grown close. I sat next to him, nudging him with my shoulder.

"Bonjour, Sophie." He said sadly.

"Why so glum, Chocolat?" I asked.

"I am in love." He replied. That was the thing about Chocolat, he rarely lied to you about what was on his mind. I already knew whom he was talking about. He'd been madly in love with Satine since he arrived three years ago. She had no idea, and probably never would. Chocolat wouldn't dare risk his job; no one else would hire him because of his skin color.

"Ah, that again." I left it at that. There was only so much I could say about their respective positions. I did the only thing I could do; I pulled my left ankle up and pulled the flask of absinthe out of my boot, offering it to him. He took it and drank.

"Thanks, that helps." He said after a few more drinks, handing it back to me. It was nearly empty.

"It won't help if you get fired. This was full a second ago." I teased, waving the flask in front of him.

"It will help, then I can tell her how I feel and we will run away to America and forget about this place."

I opened my mouth to say something when I saw them come into the theater. My sister, leading Gerard by the hand. She had changed into her red dress that was meant for seducing men. I heard her voice, but we were too high up to make out the words. He said something and she laughed her fake, "you're-oh-so-funny" flirty laugh and took a step closer to him. A step too close.

I knew where this was going, and so did Chocolat. We watched until they disappeared into one of the VIP booths and drew the curtains. I descended the stairs and stormed over to the booth, but Chocolat stopped me and clamped a giant hand over my mouth.

"It's for the best," he whispered, "now you know."

I felt the deepest betrayal sink into the pit of my stomach. How dare she? After acting all high and mighty not six hours ago, then to spin around and seduce my-

That's it. He wasn't my anything. We'd just had sex. That's all. I shouldn't be worked up about it. And she was just trying to protect me. He would've ended up hurting me anyway. Why wait?

It still hurt. But at least now I knew he was a walking bag of scum driven by his desire to do one thing and one thing only.

I relaxed and Chocolat let me go, and we headed off in the other direction. I knew this was hurting him more than me. So I swallowed the heartache over the cold slab of pain in my throat and soldiered on.

We ended up finishing the flask backstage before starting a bottle of whiskey that Chocolat had in his room. We became more jovial after the bottle's contents were half gone. We laughed and joked and sang awful sailor songs Chocolat had learned during his time in the French Navy until we had to leave for the show.

That night at the show, I had sobered up a bit, to the point where I remembered what had made me drink in the first place. I was cordial to Gerard. He tried to make me laugh a few times, I merely smiled and nodded.

"Are you alright?" he asked, touching my elbow gently. I pulled it away harshly.

"Yes, I'm quite alright."

"You don't seem it. Did I do something?" he questioned. All his queries were working on my last nerve, so I turned on my heel to face him.

"No. You did some_one_." I tried to walk past him but he was insistent.

"Oh that? That was nothing, Satine and I were just talking."

"I've been here as long as she has, and trust me, Satine does only enough talking to seal the deal or to get things started. Which one was it, Gerard?" I pushed past him and stormed away.

He didn't stay away long. By the end of the show he was back, with a small arrangement of flowers and a charming look on his face. He approached me and I slapped him. Hard. And then I walked away. That time he got the message.

Harold informed us the next morning that Gerard had resigned.

'Good riddance." I thought, heading off to sweep the floors.

* * *

I do not own Moulin Rouge or any of the song lyrics used herein.


	3. Chapter 3

A month after Gerard left, I met Luc. He was a musician at a café a mere two blocks away from my apartment. We didn't even have sex before Satine made her move. He was gone in under a week.

Six months after Luc, Michel came along. I did my best to keep him a secret, and did quite successfully for a month. Satine only found out after she caught us in the act at my apartment. He took longer for her to wear down, but eventually he left.

It had been raining all week, as was the trend in the beginning of spring. Michel just informed me that he had to leave. Called back to Marseille because of a family emergency, he said. Whatever. She did it to protect me.

It still hurt.

To prevent myself from getting hurt ever again, I closed up my heart. I only traveled between my apartment, the rehearsal space upstairs, and the Moulin Rouge so as not to meet anyone new. It went like this until the night of my twenty-first birthday in June, when Toulouse and Santiago convinced me to go out.

We went to Café Maude and met up with Nini Legs in the Air, a dancer at the Rouge who was Santiago's on and off lover. China Doll and La Petite Princesse were there too, and we all traveled back to the rehearsal space since we were all pretty much broke.

Toulouse found the floorboard under which we'd hidden a large amount of alcohol and a few glasses. I started drinking and didn't stop until I heard distant bells toll six in the morning. I was quite drunk, so I started down the stairs to sleep off as much alcohol as possible before I had to go to work.

I had forgotten how many stairs I'd gone down and entered the nearest door, crashing onto the bed that was in virtually the same spot as mine. I heard a groan and realized that the bed I was on was quite lumpy. I lifted my head and met a pair of eyes looking at me.

It was then I realized that I was lying on top of someone. A male someone. A male someone whose apartment I had just broken into and whom I'd so rudely awoken.

Neither of us really knew what to say, so we stared at each other in silence for a bit more. I was trying to focus on him as much as I could to intimidate him into speaking first, but I noticed something. This male someone was quite attractive. Brown hair, clear blue eyes, and a masculine face.

"H-hello." He finally said. His accent indicated he was British, like Nini.

"Why hello. Good morning, in fact." I said, not moving off of him.

"Yes. Say, would you mind getting off of me? You're making it rather difficult to breathe." He asked quietly in a polite manner. I obliged him and rolled off onto the other side of the bed.

"Better?" I asked. He replied in the affirmative and I introduced myself.

"I'm Sophie, I live downstairs. I'm rather drunk and must've mistaken your flat for mine. Sorry about the elbow to the gut. Do you mind if I nod off? I really don't think I can make it downstairs before I fall asleep." I said, sleepily tucking his other pillow under my head.

"I-I guess not."

I moaned appreciation, "Thank you, stranger. You're the nicest stranger I've ever met." And I passed out.

I woke up sometime later, my eyes burning as I opened them to the bright summer light. I realized that I wasn't in my apartment and slowly but surely, the events of last night came back to me. Toulouse grabbing at China's breasts, Nini and Santiago slipping into a dark corner, me feeling depressed because of my loneliness and stumbling into-

Oh god.

I heard dishes moving in the kitchen and scrambled to my feet, getting caught in the sheets and nearly cracking my skull on the desk in front of me. On the desk sat a beautiful, if not old, typewriter with a piece of paper rolled into it. On the paper was one word, and as I found my feet again I pulled it out. It said, "Love."

At that moment, I heard a throat clear behind me. The man from last night was standing there, holding a plate of what looked to be eggs. I felt the heat rise in my face.

"Hello. I-I thought you might be hungry, so I made these for you." He was charming in a shy, boyish way, very unlike the other men I'd been attracted to.

"I am so sorry about last night, I was very drunk and had very little control of myself." I blurted, not meeting his gaze. I clenched the piece of paper in my hand, then realized that I'd crumbled his work, opened my hand and smoothed it out against the table.

He laughed, "That's alright. I know nothing of the subject. It's funny, I came here to be a great bohemian writer, but I've never really been in love."

The subject of love made me a little uncomfortable, given my history with the emotion. So I changed the subject.

"I'm Sophie, by the way."

"I remember from last night, I'm Christian." He put the plate down and extended his hand for me to shake. I shook it and looked his straight in the gorgeous blue eyes. I blinked and told myself to snap out of it. He was wearing a watch, so I tilted his wrist to read the time.

"Oh God, I have to go." It was one o'clock, time for rehearsal at the Moulin Rouge. I was premiering a new song for the girls today. I thanked Christian for the breakfast before dashing downstairs and grabbing my music. Harold had requested a new dance number, so I wrote it for him.

Harold gave me the stink eye as I passed the girls their music and took my place at the piano. For a place with no rules, Harold was sure strict.

"I want you to want me, I need you to need me, I'd love you to love me, I'm begging you to beg me." I sang, sweet and slow, for the girls to listen. I then assigned them each their parts and continued with Satine's more upbeat solo.

"Oh, I see a man at the back as a matter of fact his eyes are as red as the sun. And the girl in the corner let no one ignore her cause she thinks she's the passionate one." She picked it up almost immediately, as was usual. Satine was nothing if not one hundred percent professional performer.

"And the man in the back said everyone attack and it turned into a ballroom blitz. And the girl in the corner said boy I want to warn you it'll turn into a ballroom blitz." The song's tempo was building, so to rein it in I spliced in some slower "I want you to want me, etc."

The girls had the song down within the hour, but not ready enough for tonight's show. The choreographer had to finish it the next day.

Throughout the whole rehearsal, I couldn't get Christian off my mind. I decided to bring him a mille-feuilles from my favorite bakery later to properly apologize for the previous night.

After rehearsal my sister came up to me and congratulated me on the new song. She said it was sure to be a hit.

"I must cancel tonight's dinner. I've got a-." she started, but I interrupted her.

"I don't want to hear about your job. It's alright, we can reschedule." I said, trying to dismiss her. She tilted her head down but kept her gaze on me.

"It's with a Duke. He's very keen on investing in the Moulin Rouge and turning it into a theater. Weren't you and Toulouse working on some sort of bohemian play?" She asked in her seductive voice.

"Yes. You think he'd produce it?" I asked. Toulouse would be so excited, but the play was nowhere near ready thanks to Audrey's constant changes.

"I think he would. Come by tomorrow, Harold is going to work out the details with him in the morning. Around eleven." And she turned on her heel and walked away coquettishly.

I left the Moulin Rouge in the early evening and went up to the other rehearsal space, where I found Toulouse and the boys stumbling around with a bottle of absinthe. Toulouse approached me and grabbed my wrist, pulling me over to where the others were while speaking a mile a minute.

"We've found a new writer. His name is Christian and you two will write Spectacular Spectacular together because Audrey quit when Christian came up with some new lyrics and we're going to meet with Satine tonight and get her to pitch it to Zidler-!"

"No you're not." I said, stopping in my tracks. He looked confused and turned back to me.

"And why not?" asked Santiago from his spot on the floor.

"She's got an…appointment tonight. We are going to pitch it to Zidler in the morning. So sober up, because we need to make something out of this pile of shit before tomorrow." I said, taking his glass and draining it for him. The boys, including Christian, also downed their glasses.

"Now let's get started." I said, sitting down in their little circle.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

I do not own Moulin Rouge or any of the song lyrics used herein.

Reviews would be greatly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

Christian was brilliant. At some point during the night, I couldn't tell where his ideas ended and mine began. We made a great team, and we'd had nearly the entire first act written by the morning. The others lay strewn about the rehearsal space, asleep and in various stages of undress. Christian and I were the only ones awake and we were tucked into a corner, so as not to disturb the boys.

"I'm still stumped as to why the penniless sitar player would be dressed as a maharajah." Christian pondered aloud, pencil tucked behind his left ear in a most charming way. He looked up from the paper and our eyes met briefly. I felt the familiar stirring of butterflies in my stomach, but told myself to stop it. It would only end badly.

"Maybe…he was appearing in a play?" I queried, tired and almost completely out of ideas.

Christian thought for a moment before grabbing the pencil from behind his ear and scribbling it down, praising me for my idea. I grabbed his wrist and checked the time. It was nearly seven, so I decided to call it quits for the night.

"We'll meet here at quarter to eleven and head over to the Rouge then. I need to catch a few hours of sleep first." I said, standing up and brushing off my skirt. Christian stood quickly, as to be polite.

"I'll see you then, Sophie." He said as I walked toward the staircase. I waved over my shoulder at him because I knew if I looked back I would want to keep working, and I really did need sleep. I could feel a bit of a sore throat developing, and I couldn't be spreading that at the Rouge.

I entered my apartment and put on some water for tea and found a three-day old croissant in the cupboard for breakfast. Right after breakfast I lay down and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

I awoke to someone shaking me, and I lashed out with my fist. I made contact with a shoulder, and I knew it was Toulouse.

"My dear, we have to go see Zidler now. Wake up." He said gently. I cracked my eyes open to see him rubbing his shoulder where I hit him.

"What time is it?" I grumbled, turning over.

"Half past ten. I thought you would like some time to get ready." That Toulouse, always one step ahead of everyone.

"Thank you." I said as I rolled off the bed nearest the bathroom. I brushed my hair and washed off the previous day's mascara before applying more.

"So who's going? We can't bring too many or Harold's office will be a madhouse." I said loudly enough for Toulouse to hear me in the other room.

"Just you, me, and Christian. I'm going to put on some tea, do you have anything to settle my stomach?" he asked, his voice disappearing into the kitchen.

"There should be some crackers in the cupboard, Dearest." I exited the bathroom having approved my makeup and started looking for clothes that weren't dirty, which was difficult seeing as how I hadn't done laundry in weeks. Finally I found a passable skirt and top and slipped into them as the teapot started whistling.

I looked at my father's old pocket watch, one of my most prized possessions, and saw that only five minutes had passed. We had time to sip tea and chat about how we would approach our pitch. Toulouse must've thought the same because he came in with two cups of tea and sat next to me on the bed. He asked me how I wanted to go about getting the Duke to approve our idea as he poured brandy into his cup from a flask. His hand was slightly trembling.

"I think we should just be straightforward with the plot." I said, blowing on my tea to cool it off some. He offered me the brandy and I shook my head.

"We should pitch it in song! How wonderful would that be?" Toulouse had apparently no idea who our audience would be. I reminded him that the uppermost classes didn't like being bombarded with theatrics in such close proximity, they'd rather it be on stage. Since we were going to be in Harold's office, we should stay away from such things. He reluctantly agreed as I heard a soft knock on the door.

Christian entered briefly and we all left. As we entered the Rouge, Chocolat tried to get my attention but I waved him off, promising that we would speak later. We got to Harold's office and were stopped by an intimidating man wearing a derby. We heard shouting and shortly after Harold popped his head out, looking haggard and a little terrified. This did not give me hope. However, his face brightened when he saw my cohorts and me.

"Aah! My little songbird, there you are! The Duke has been waiting for you!" He exclaimed as he ushered us in.

The Duke was a little rat of a man. He seemed to have an aura of grease about him, like he could slide his way out of any situation be it with his money or the power of intimidation. So this was the man my sister seduced last night. I didn't think I'd be able to look at her the same way again.

"So Zidler here tells me you've written me a show." He said, his voice even more rat-like than his face. High pitched and nasal, it was the type of voice that made my skin crawl.

"Yes, dear Duke, may I introduce our dear bohemian Henri Toulouse-Lautrec, and the head songwriter of the Moulin Rouge, Miss Sophia Desrosiers, and…uhh…" Harold introduced, stopping at Christian, as they'd never met.

"Christian O'Hara, sir. I'm a co-writer with Miss Desrosiers." Christian reached out his hand to the Duke, who looked at it as he would a crusty beggar asking for loose change. Christian took back his hand after a few awkward moments and we pitched him the story.

Throughout the pitch I watched the Duke's face. He looked bemused, even as Toulouse was becoming more engrossed in the story and began hopping about, impersonating each character. We were failing miserably; Christian and I both sensed it. The story was missing some key part, and as I was trying to figure it out Christian blurted something out.

"The penniless sitar player's sitar is magical!" he shouted over Toulouse, who was badly pretending to be the maharajah.

This seemed to snap the Duke out of his malaise, as he sat up in his chair. "How so?" he asked, tenting his fingers together.

"It…well, um…" Christian stuttered. And then it hit me. The first bohemian play on earth was missing one of the tenets that were central to the bohemian school of thought.

"It can speak. And when it does, it can only speak the truth." I interjected.

"And he gives the game away to the maharajah." The Duke said knowingly, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes, exactly!" Christian exclaimed, nearly jumping out of his chair, "And the maharajah tells the courtesan to send him away or he will have the penniless sitar player killed!"

"So she does send him away, but he comes back and sings her a special song which drives the maharajah mad with jealousy!" I added, equally as excited as Christian.

"So the evil maharajah leaves the kingdom, never to be seen again!"

"And the penniless sitar player and the courtesan live happily ever after!"

We were both standing, and I didn't realize we'd been nearly shouting until the ringing in my ears started. We stared awkwardly at the Duke, and he nodded slightly, hands crossed over his hat in a very polite fashion.

"And what does the music sound like? If I am to produce this show I should very much like to know what it will sound like." He said tersely, and I got the sense that he was telling more than asking. I looked at Toulouse, who started making excuses and trying to flatter the gentleman into compliance, but I could tell the Duke was quickly losing interest.

I could feel my pulse rising, blood rushing to my head when Christian blurted, "My gift is my song!"

We all paused, the air seeming to have left the room. Christian continued, "and this one's for you. And you can tell everybody that this is your song. It may be quite simple, but now that it's done, I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind  
That I put down in words...How wonderful life is, now you're in the world."

It was beautiful and charming and oh God he was staring right at me as he kept singing.

"I sat on the roof and I kicked off the moss  
Well some of these verses, well they,  
they've got me quite cross  
But the sun's been kind while I wrote this song  
It's for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do  
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue  
Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean  
Yours are the sweetest eyes, I've ever seen!" he grabbed my hands and we twirled around Harold's desk, deftly avoiding the obstacles of the other people in the room. I didn't even notice them as we danced.

"And you can tell everybody that this is your song.

It may be quite simple but now that it's done,

I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words

how wonderful life is, now you're in the world

I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind

That I put down in words

How wonderful life is, now you're in the world."

My heart was racing, but I disengaged and clapped politely when he finished and tried to keep from making eye contact. That song was meant for me. My ears were ringing as the Duke declared his intent to fund the show and shook hands with everyone.

So the Bohemians had their show, and I had a very large problem.

* * *

On my way out of the Rouge, Chocolat stopped me. Remembering my promise to find out what he wanted to say to me, I stopped.

"Satine fell last night." He said. Something was off about him, he looked worried but at the same time more confident than I'd ever seen him.

"Fell? What do you mean?" I asked.

"From her perch, after Ladies' Choice. The reprise of Diamonds. She just stopped singing and fell." He explained quickly.

"What? Is she alright? I've got to go see her!" I exclaimed, trying to get around him, but he stopped me.

"She's alright. I caught her. Now I have a favor to ask of you," I backed out of his grasp and gave him permission to continue, "I need the male lead."

I let out a short laugh, and the look on his face didn't change. "Oh, you're serious?"

"Yes. I'll be great because I won't be acting. I listened in on the pitch, I figure Satine will have the part of the courtesan, I need to be her penniless sitar player. You don't want Santiago; he'll fall asleep in the middle of performances. Please, Sophie, I beg of you, I need to be close to her and tell her how I truly feel."

When I didn't answer he continued with, "Please, Sophie, this may be my only chance! You know how long I've been in love with her!" The look in his eyes convinced me, and I relented.

"Alright, but you have to break the news to Santiago." His face lit up like the Moulin at sunset as he kissed my cheek and thanked me profusely. I felt good about this decision, but Toulouse and especially Santiago wouldn't be. I expected Toulouse to pout and not talk to me for about an hour, or until the absinthe kicked in. Whichever came first. From Santiago I expected one of two things, either he would pass out or he would punch something.

Either way, it was going to be a good night. I could tell Toulouse was already planning a party. It was going to be the best party ever.

* * *

I do not own Moulin Rouge or the lyrics used herein.

Reviews greatly appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

The party was loud and crowded. It was the Rouge girls' night off, and they all came over. All except Satine. I figured she was with the Duke securing herself a fancy new dressing room with all the works. Santiago was over in the corner with Nini, half fighting and half necking. In the summer heat the room filled with people was stifling, so I made my way to the roof.

The warm breeze was comforting and the view of the city laid out beneath me was breathtaking. My head was a little swimmy after the couple of drinks I'd had. The party raged beneath me, and I could hear Toulouse proposing some sort of toast. I raised my glass and downed what little was left of my brandy.

I hummed a few bars from the song Christian sang earlier and thought about how fitting it was for the show. I sighed as I remembered the look he gave me as we'd danced. My heart wanted me to reciprocate his look and his feelings, but my head knew that I'd only get hurt again.

"Drinking alone?" a voice said from behind me. Christian was standing at the top of the stairs with two glasses in either hand. They held milky green absinthe in them, and he walked over. I reached for one and he handed it to me as he sat down next to me.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I asked, taking a sip, and because alcohol loosens my tongue I continued, "Who'd have thought that within your first 48 hours in Paris you'd become the writer of the world's first Bohemian play, which is guaranteed to be a success because you're absolutely amazing. With what you do. Words, I mean, you're very good at…words."

He smiled and nodded, looking into his glass which was still full, "And who knew I would find the one thing I've been missing."

I knew I wouldn't like the answer, but I asked anyway, "And what's that?"

He removed his gaze from the glass and turned it to my eyes. "Love."

"Hm. Well, that's very interesting, Christian, but I am in no need of love at the moment, so I shall be going. See you at rehearsal tomorrow?" I said, getting to my feet rather unsteadily and making a move for the door back into the party. However, in his more-sober-than-I state, he moved in front of me.

"All you need is love!" he exclaimed.

"Please don't start that." I countered, avoiding eye contact like the plague and trying to move around him.

"All you need is love!"

"A girl's got to keep her head!" I insisted, moving back toward the edge of the roof, hugging myself.

"All you need is love!" If nothing else, Christian was persistent.

"I think it's time for bed." I tried to maneuver around him, but he caught me by the shoulders and spun around me, turning me until the Paris night-lights were in my view.

"All you need is love!"

"Love is just a game." I was getting angry, partly because of the alcohol, partly because of Christian's annoying insistence that he loved me after only having met me a day ago.

"In the name of love! One night in the name of love!" He spread his arms wide, as if inviting me into his arms. He wore a smile that equal parts determination and frivolity. This, in turn, made me smile as well.

"You crazy fool! I won't give in to you!" I turned on my heel and took a few steps toward the door before he grabbed my wrist.

"Don't, leave me this way. I can't survive without your sweet love. Oh baby, don't leave me this way."

I looked from his hand on my wrist, a gentle grip, to his eyes, pleading with my to stay. "You think that people would've had enough with silly love songs." I offered gently.

"I look around me and I see it isn't so, oh no."

"Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs."

"Well what's wrong with that? I'd like to know. Cuz here I go, again!" he dropped my wrist and leapt onto the far edge of the building, spreading his arms again, "Love lifts us up where we belong! Where eagles fly on a mountain high!"

I pulled him down by the arm, "Love makes us act like we are fools. Throw our lives away for one happy day!" This time I turned, resolute in my decision to leave.

"We could be heroes!" he shouted, and I turned "Just for one day."

I walked toward him with purposeful steps, "You. You would be mean. And I, I'd drink all the time." I reached him and poked his chest before pointing back at myself to emphasize my point.

"We should be lovers." He grabbed my hand, but I pulled it away, insisting that, "We can't do that."

"We should be lovers and that's a fact!" We stared at each other.

"Though nothing would keep us together?"

"We could still try, just for one day." He said, his expression softening along with my own, in spite of myself.

"We could be heroes…" I considered and he took me by the shoulders again, making me look him in the eye.

"Just because I will always love you!" The look on his face broke me and I pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I can't help loving you!" he said into the spot where my neck met my shoulder, and it made me shiver in the best way possible.

"How wonderful life is, now you're in the world." I said, pushing out of the embrace and kissing him full on the mouth. His lips were warm and impossibly soft and full and the kiss made my knees weak.

We didn't break the kiss until we reached my apartment, where I pulled away to do away with his shirt and undershirt. For my state of drunkenness, my fingers were surprisingly nimble and he was shirtless in a matter of seconds. His fingers deftly manipulated the strings of my corset and it was tossed to the side as well.

He kissed my neck and lowered me onto my bed, removing every stitch of clothing from both our bodies. I kissed him deeply as he entered me, and I felt every inch of his length.

Having Christian was very different than all the others. He was gentle and caring and kissed me on the mouth. I really knew what making love was rather than just having sex. If the party hadn't been still going, all of the partygoers two floors above us would have heard my screams of delight as I came.

We fell asleep in a sweaty heap, limbs akimbo and breathing heavily, with my head on his shoulder and him holding me as tight as he possibly could without crushing me.

I felt so incredibly safe and loved as I fell asleep, an entirely new feeling for me. And one I didn't plan on giving up anytime soon.

* * *

I do not own Moulin Rouge or the lyrics used herein.

So I hate to be this person but I need reviews to keep going. What's going right? What's going wrong? What would you like to see more/less of as the story develops? I've got it all mapped out, but I need feedback from my audience to know whether or not it's worth my while to continue. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

"I can't get to sleep." I was sitting on my miniscule excuse for a balcony, taking drags off of a cigarette as I watched the sunrise. "I think about the implications of diving in to deep and possibly the complications. Especially at night, I worry over situations. I know will be all right. Perhaps it's just imagination."

I looked over my shoulder at the sleeping Christian. I kept thinking that if Satine found out she'd chase him away. This time was different though. I felt deeper for Christian than I had for Gerard or Luc or Michel. If Satine charmed him into leaving me, I was sure I'd never recover. So I was cautious, trying to think of a way to make sure she never found out. These thoughts had woken and kept me up since the wee hours of the morning. I took another drag on the cigarette and sighed, the smoke billowing around my face.

"Day after day it reappears, and night after night my heartbeat shows the fear.  
Ghosts appear and fade away. Come back another day." I waved my hand through the smoke, dissipating it. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my head on them.

"I can't get to sleep!" I said, pulling my head up after some while. "I think about the implications of diving in too deep. And possibly the complications…Ghosts appear and fade away. Ghosts appear and fade away. Ghosts appear and fade away." I stood up and extinguished my cigarette, leaning on the railing and watching the street below me come alive.

Factory workers walked in twos and threes toward the metro station down the street. Prostitutes, weary from a rather busy night, walked in the opposite direction toward home, keeping their heads down to avoid unwanted propositions. The baker Lessard opened his shop for the morning, the smell of the freshly baked bread already wafting down the street. I sighed, deeply in love with the city that was waking up around me. It had been a long while since I'd watched the early morning traffic, and I resolved to do it more often.

Christian snorted and rolled over onto his back. His innocent face looked particularly angelic when relaxed in sleep. Strange as it was, I didn't want to go crawl back into bed with him. So I dressed as quietly as possible and walked over to the Rouge.

* * *

The Rouge at this time of day was eerily quiet, which is what I loved about it. I had the whole large ballroom to myself. I found a booth and curled into it with a few pieces of paper and a pencil, feeling large and small at the same time. After a few minutes of mad scribbling of notes that would eventually make up a song, I heard a groan from the booth next door.

I peeked around the corner and saw Toulouse with a dress covering him like a blanket. However, his top hat was still on his head. It's like it was glued on. I'd only seen him with it off once and that was a story I'd very much like to have forgotten. I tapped the top hat and he started awake, sitting bolt upright in the booth as if he were being served.

"And another bottle of scotch!" He shouted. As it echoed through the cathedral-like ballroom he realized where he was and looked at me, blinking through the remnants of sleep and last night's larger-than-usual alcohol intake. It was amazing how much his little body could drink. He blinked a few more times before he noticed me.

"Ah, Sophie darling. You wouldn't happen to know where Le Petite Princesse went? She has my trousers, I'm afraid. And I need to compliment her on the fantastic fucking she gave me." He said matter-of-factly, straightening himself up.

"No. My guess would be the girl's rooms in back." Rather than having his Diamond Dogs spread out all over Montmartre where he couldn't keep an eye on them, Harold had a dormitory-type arrangement at the very back of the Moulin Rouge lot. The rooms connected to the Rouge and all of the fancy places were for the girls to meet their nightly paramours. The fancier the room (and the girl), the more expensive it was. Satine in the elephant or the gothic tower would cost a small fortune, whereas China Doll or Nini in the Starlight room would be only a few hundred francs.

Harold had a strict "No men in the dorms" policy, so I offered to go retrieve Toulouse's pants for him. He brushed me off as he slipped the dress over his head.

"Trust me, my dear, I've walked home in worse. And less." He smiled, patting my hand as he strutted off in the powder blue dress. If it weren't for the top hat he would've been a rather lovely vision from behind.

"Rehearsal later!" I shouted after him. He simply waved a hand above his shoulder. I shook my head. Toulouse was a constant source of entertainment, that was for sure.

I continued writing almost until rehearsal started, when Harold and the Duke entered the ballroom. I closed one of the curtains to my booth to hide myself, as I didn't feel like talking to anyone just yet.

"I trust you'll find Satine very accommodating, Dear Duke, she's very devoted." I heard Harold pontificate. He said she was devoted, but didn't say to what or whom.

"Yes, she proved herself very…versatile during our night in the elephant." The duke said. The combination of the pictures in my head and his slimy voice made me physically ill. Although I had little in my stomach, I felt as though I would vomit.

"I'm sure she'll do anything you ask. She is yours by contract, after all." I could tell Harold was smiling.

"Yes, about that. I would like to appoint someone to watch her. To ensure fidelity on her part." From the closeness of his voice, the Duke was near my hideout. I remained as silent as possible, intrigued at what I'd heard. Satine bound by contract? Harold had used her to impress investors before, even promised her to some of them exclusively, but never by contract.

"Dear Duke, don't you think that's a little extreme?" Harold schmoozed.

I heard the Duke turn on the heel of his boot, "What did I tell you Zidler? I don't like other people touching things that are mine. And if you want the Moulin Rouge to remain standing and not become a pile of bricks and dust you will find someone to watch her!" The duke's voice rose steadily until he was shouting and filling the ballroom with his voice.

Harold waited until the last of the echoes dissipated to answer with a stunned, "I will ask Chocolat. He is the lead in the show, it will be easiest for him to watch her."

The Duke straightened himself and sighed. "I guess that will do. Now, where shall we put the box seats?"

Once the Duke and Harold left the ballroom after discussing some schematics and semantics I gathered my papers and dashed off to Satine's room. Since she was the star, she had a small apartment rather than having to live in the dorms. I knocked on the door and heard shushing and giggling coming from inside.

Satine answered the door in a pink silk robe I'd given to her on her last birthday. Her hair was down and slightly tangled, as if it had been tousled about by sleep. From the smile on her face, though, she had been doing anything but sleeping.

"Dear baby sister! What can I do for you?" she said, not asking me in.

I paused, trying to decide which of the million questions I had milling about in my head to ask first and chose, "Who is in there with you?"

She giggled and looked back over her shoulder at her mystery paramour, "It's no one."

I pushed open the door all the way, catching her off guard. On the bed lay a very naked baker Lessard. He was a young man who'd taken over his father's bakery at seventeen, after his father died suddenly. He now ran it with the help of his mother, who was a cackling shrew, and his older sister who was married to a railroad worker. He was maybe now in his late twenties. The years of hard work at the bakery had chipped at his muscles so he looked like the statue of David I'd seen pictures of. His sandy blonde hair was sticking to his forehead, and I cleared my throat.

"Rehearsal starts soon and I've got something to tell you."

"Can't it wait?" she giggled, still looking back at Lucien. I was in no mood to kid around, so I grabbed her upper arm roughly and dragged her into the hallway.

"Do you have any idea what the consequences of you sleeping around are?" I snapped. I was sick of her sanctimonious attitude about my sexual activities while at the same time partaking in some of her own, especially when the fate of our place of employment was hanging in the balance.

"Don't be silly, no one will know. We're just having a bit of fun." She was still smiling. I was getting extremely annoyed with her blasé attitude.

"They will know. The Duke is having Chocolat watch you. Effective immediately." I hissed. This didn't seem to faze her.

"Oh Chocolat won't tell them anything. He's a push over. One seductive wink and he'll be a puddle on the floor." Satine waved her hand dismissively and I lost it.

"You shouldn't toy with people like that! He's a grown man with feelings and you can't just manipulate him like that! What kind of person does that?" I ranted, my voice rising. I didn't wait for her answer, I stormed away.

* * *

I do not own Moulin Rouge or any lyrics used herein.

Lyrics used: "Overkill"- Men at Work

Hello all! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please please review!


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